Completely Untoward
by applestoalways47
Summary: Some more "bold Shelagh" for my favorite fandom! Patrick enlists Shelagh's help for a tough transverse birth, and afterward, he takes her into his office to...thank her. Rated T for some implied sexy stuff. Two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello darlings! You asked for more "bold Shelagh," so I was happy to comply. I've been dying to see Patrick and Shelagh perform a birth as a married couple, so I came up with a scenario in which that could happen. I absolutely adored 3x05 yesterday (Turner family group hug!), so much so that I've already watched it twice and will probably do another rewatch today. I'm working on a response fic at the mo, but it will probably be set mid-episode, something to do with Sister E's biting comments about Shelagh's leaving the order and Patrick comforting her. For now, though, hope you enjoy this little brainchild of mine! It'll be a two-shot. Moderate warning, I'm not very well acquainted with the particulars of a transverse birth, so I took a little creative license. Indulge me! Love to all.

**Disclaimer: **Everything belongs to Jennifer Worth, BBC, and the goddess of the universe, HTMG.

**Completely Untoward**

She knew she shouldn't be doing it.

She was still reeling from the news of her own infertility, however much she tried to hide it, surrounded as she was by mothers and babies at the clinic and the maternity home. More to the point, her days of nursing and midwifery were over. She was wife and mother in a home she adored, even if there was an undeniable void within its walls.

Yet when Patrick emerged, haggard and desperate, bursting through the double doors and begging for her assistance, she was helplessly unable to resist. She could hardly make out his words over the mother's anguished screams, but she caught "transverse" between two wails of pain. She hesitated for a moment, unsure she could handle being thrown back into her past so abruptly, but the creases of worry on her face quickly dissolved into a countenance hardened by determination, lips pursing as she shed her jacket and requested some medical scrubs. Patrick had beamed with pride—and was that…desire?—at her, mouthing a "thank you" brimming with adoration before running back into the ward.

She walked with a strength and fortitude she didn't know she possessed, perhaps overcompensating for the crippling anxiety making her stomach spasm and contract. She breathed deeply, exhaling through her mouth and balling her delicate hands into fists to dispel the nerves.

Mrs. Forster's hands were similarly engaged, her fingers whiter than the sheets she clenched with a tenacity only induced by the sheer agony of childbirth. However beautiful the fruits of that pain were, it was still excruciating. Even through the mother's shrieks and cries, Shelagh took a moment to marvel at the bravery of these women—a bravery she would never have the chance to exhibit. She wondered if she even had it, as meekness and taciturnity had defined her character for so many years.

But the gentle touch of Patrick's hand on her arm brought her back to the present, and she knew the confidence he inspired in her was what she needed to get her through this birth. He had broken her shell, awakened her soul, set her life ablaze with new purpose and wonder. She had told him she was a bold girl…sometimes…and today would be that sometimes.

She briefly covered his hand with her own, giving it a gentle squeeze of thanks and sending a silent prayer heavenward, before straightening her back and tilting her chin high.

"Hello, Mrs. Forster. My name is Shelagh. I'll be helping doctor today. Not to worry, we'll have this baby out and in your arms in a jiffy."

Oh, how she'd longed to hear a midwife say those words to her as Patrick waited downstairs, smoking his way through countless packs of Henley's as he waited for his son or daughter to arrive.

She grabbed the pinard to tune out her own thoughts as she listened for baby's heartbeat.

Patrick had been right. Transverse.

She recalled the words she'd spoken to Mave Carter that fateful day when she and Patrick had experienced one of their most dramatic births.

"Now then, Mrs. Forster, it seems baby's misbehaving slightly and lying sideways-on instead of head-down."

"My baby, what's wrong with my baby?"

The mother's last word expanded into another scream as a fresh contraction hit.

"Nothing's wrong, dear; we just have to turn this little prankster the right way round," Shelagh assured her, attempting to soothe her worries as much as she could.

She leaned down to murmur to Patrick, "I'm going to have to try an external aversion."

He nodded his approval with a twinkle of encouragement in his eye, and Shelagh readied the mother's stomach for the procedure.

"All right…what's your name, dear?" Shelagh began.

"Annie."

"All right, Annie. I've got to turn your baby round so you can properly deliver. Your pain is so acute because your body is pushing and the baby has nowhere to go, but I need you to be strong for me, Annie. This will hurt, but I just want you to think about how beautiful it will be to see your child's face when this is all over."

Shelagh surprised herself and Patrick with her words, but she straightened herself and began pressing against Annie's stomach, breathing deeply, using all the emotional and physical strength she possessed to shift the baby into the proper position. Annie's cries reverberated off the sterile, white walls of the ward, her hands nearly ripping the sheets.

"Almost there, Annie! Almost there!" Shelagh cried, willing the mother and herself to be strong.

With one final rotation, the baby reached the proper position. Shelagh gave a nod and exhaled a sharp "yes". She and Patrick exchanged smiles of relief before the doctor turned to the heavily breathing mother.

"Shelagh's turned the baby round, now, Mrs. Forster. You're fully dilated, so with the next contraction, I want little pushes," the doctor explained, shifting his stool to allow the needed access for delivery.

Shelagh, knowing her work was done, moved up beside the bed, taking one of Annie's hands in hers and flinching at the fierce grip she was met with.

"Pant now, Annie, pant," she coached, covering the hand she held with her other, Annie complied, and her short breaths gave way to a pained groan, its guttural crescendo signaling the next contraction.

"Little pushes, Annie, little pushes!" Shelagh goaded.

The contraction subsided, and Dr. Turner announced that the head was crowning.

"Well, done Annie. Stay strong for me, now," Shelagh encouraged.

She felt another wave of pain ripple through the mother's body, the hand she held tightening as another scream pierced the air.

"The head's out," the doctor exclaimed. "Now then, Mrs. Forster, let's welcome this baby to England!"

Shelagh saw the look of utter determination and joy on her husband's face, and her heart swelled with a love that emboldened her.

"Come on, Annie," she said, her voice strong yet trembling with emotion as her glasses fogged with unshed tears. "One more push, sweetie, one more _big_ push!"

Then two cries erupted through the silence, and a new life shattered the universe for a fleeting moment before time began again.

Patrick clamped the cord and prepared to cut it as the newborn wriggled at the foot of the bed.

"You have a beautiful baby boy, Mrs. Forster," he declared, his smile threatening to widen clean off his face. "Can't say I'm surprised, the way he misbehaved even before he got here. I'd say you've got a right troublemaker on your hands."

Shelagh laughed through her tears of happiness and noticed Annie doing the same, their hands tightening not in pain relief but simply in relief—and utter joy.

Having snipped the cord, Patrick tenderly wrapped the baby in a blanket before saying, "Shelagh, my love, would you like to hand baby to mother?"

Her eyes beamed with love at his words, her adoration outshining the tinge of slight disapproval aroused by his breach of their consummate professionalism in the workplace. She gently took the bundle from his arms, their fingers brushing softly in the process, and she smiled lovingly at him before turning to Annie and tenderly placing her son in her awaiting arms.

The new mother stared in wonder and utter devotion at the child as his cries immediately ceased once he felt her touch, his tiny mouth widening into a yawn.

"You ain't even been here for two minutes and you already want to sleep!" Annie remarked as she crooked a finger to caress her baby's cheek.

They all laughed in the complete and utter happiness they were feeling. Shelagh and Patrick shared a knowing look. No matter how many births they witnessed, the emotions they felt would never waver in intensity, and the wonder at the near-miracle of a baby's shrill first cry would never fail to induce them.

"Well done, Annie," Shelagh breathed on an exhalation expelling her stress and adrenaline, giving the hand she held a congratulatory squeeze. "Well done."

"Thank you, Shelagh," the mother replied, her eyes only leaving her child's face for a moment to meet Shelagh's in a glance of pure gratitude and euphoria.

"I'll go inform your husband of the good news," Shelagh told her, releasing her hand as she caught her husband's eye. He would handle the third stage, and all would be well. It was amazing how much they could communicate with a simple look. He threw her a wink and a smile before reaching to place a chamber pot at the foot of the bed.

Shelagh removed her little white medical cap as she nudged open the door to the reception area where one of the nurses now sat taking calls. Quite a role reversal in such a short time! Shelagh sighed at the thought that this was a fluke, a rare occurrence unlikely to come her way again. Perhaps that was as it should be.

The anxiety blanketing the face of whom she could only assume was Annie's husband as he quickly stood up snapped her back to reality. She found a wide smile unconsciously spreading across her face as she informed him, "Mr. Forster, you have a son."

The father's eyes blazed with love and relief as he began to walk toward the doors, desperate to see his wife and child. Reluctantly, Shelagh held out a gentle hand to stop his movements.

"I know you want to see them," she began, "but there is such a thing as being ready for visitors. Doctor will come out in just a few minutes to let you in."

She spared the young husband the details of the afterbirth delivery, though she wagered that any words she uttered would go completely over his head, so focused was he on the double doors and who waited behind them.

Shelagh guided the man trembling with anticipation back to his seat before shedding the scrubs and disposing of them in the laundry bin inside the hall closet.

She turned to the orderly now manning her desk.

"Nurse Michaels, I can step back in now, if you like. Thank you for taking over this evening, and I'm sorry to have put you to any trouble."

"No worries, Mrs. Turner," the cheery nurse replied. "My shift is nearly over, so why don't you and the doctor run along home while I finish up here?"

"Oh no, I couldn't let you be bothered," protested Shelagh.

"No arguments, missy," the slightly senior nurse said in mock reproach. "You went above and beyond the call of duty today, so go home and get some rest."

Shelagh beamed her thanks at the kind woman, bearing a smile that made her cheeks ache. She and Patrick definitely needed an early night, though she doubted much of it would be spent in slumber. Her triumph that day had made her bold, and she had plans for her husband.

The object of her thoughts suddenly burst through the doors with a smile to rival hers.

"Now then, Mr. Forster," Patrick said, pride and unbridled joy evident in his voice, "would you like to see your baby boy?"

The anxious man erupted from his seat and nearly knocked the doors off their hinges as he rushed to his wife and son.

Patrick and Shelagh watched in wonder as father and son met for the first time, tiny fingers curling around one big one.

Their eyes suddenly met in a blaze of love and pride in their shared purpose, and Nurse Michaels decided to step in.

"Off with you now, Turners," she playfully reprimanded. "We nurses can close up shop here."

The two smiled their thanks and made their way to Patrick's office to collect their things.

As soon as she'd walked through the door, Patrick pinned her against it, his mouth engulfing hers in passionate fervor. One hand cushioned her head and wove into her hair as the other pushed under her blouse to run a thumb along the gentle curve of her waist, the subtle flair of her hip. She squeaked in surprise before clutching at his back and shoulders as she kissed him back without restraint. Consummate professionalism be damned.

"You were magnificent," he breathed against her lips as he tore his mouth from hers, resisting only for a moment before capturing her lips once more. He strayed from her mouth to her jaw line, his teeth grazing the defined bone as he traveled toward the creamy column of her neck. He felt her heartbeat quicken through his lips on her pulse point, sucking the proof she was living into his veins to enliven himself.

"Would it be completely untoward if I told you how much that made me want you?" he growled huskily into her ear as his tongue came to trace its shell, his hands roaming freely over her body as she writhed beneath his touch against the door. Breathy gasps and moans escaped her lips no matter how hard she fought to stifle them.

"As a midwife," Patrick continued, nibbling her neck and collarbone, "during a birth, you must make decisions on your feet. You must be firm and strong," he continued, pushing her harder against the door as her fingers tightened in his hair, her intakes of breath becoming sharper and more audible, "yet tender and understanding."

He released his tight grip, yet she stayed where she was, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, rendered motionless by his powerful gaze.

He leaned in to whisper against her lips, "Rather like when we make love."

He moved to capture her lips once more, but all at once he found his own back against the door, Shelagh's fingers gripping the lapels of his clinical coat while she fixed him with a predatory gaze. Never before had he seen such fire in her eyes. His eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline at her boldness.

"And would it be completely untoward if I told you," she purred, her fingers tiptoeing across his shoulders and down his arms, "that your hands drive me absolutely mad?"

She grabbed the appendages in question with her own, surprising him further by slamming them on either side of his head against the door as she leaned in to claim his lips. She shifted slightly to leave her own marks on his neck.

"Every time you roll up your sleeves," she murmured as her lips trailed his 5 o'clock shadow, "I just want to take you into that cubicle and devour you."

She punctuated her remark with a nip at his pulse point.

"I must say, doctor," she breathed, gliding her hands back down to his shoulders, "those forearms of yours are frightfully distracting. It's hardly professional, but then again your entire appearance often fails to be."

She let out a giggle then, and she was done for.

He reversed them again while her guard was down, fully untucking her blouse to feel her silky skin against his hands. She gasped sharply at the contact.

"I will confess, madam, that I do often come to work looking like I just rolled out of bed," he conceded playfully against her collarbone, "and I spend the entire day contriving what we'll do when I get you back into it."

"Good then," she countered impishly, "because I've got plans for you tonight, mister, and they don't involve leaving that bed at all."

He groaned and beamed at her boldness as she curved her head to whisper in his ear, "And they don't involve any clothes, either."

**Well, there you have it, folks! I'll have the morning after talk for the second chapter just to give it a little more finality. Deciding to skip the sexy times for this fic, but I'll have some in the other one I'm writing. Review if you're so inclined! XOXO.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'm back, dearies! Here's a bit of adorable-morning-Turners discussing their recent birth and reaching further back into their pasts, when they were still just Dr. Turner and Sister Bernadette instead of Shelagh and Patrick. This chapter turns a bit more serious, but there's still plenty of playfulness (and boldness). I think this is some of the prettiest writing I've done, fanfic or no, so I really hope you enjoy it. Thanks to those who wrote reviews! This second chapter will conclude the fic, but I've got plenty more ideas marinating in the old noggin, so stay tuned! Love to you all.

**Disclaimer: **Nope, still don't own these beautiful characters. All ownership to Jennifer and Heidi et al.

**Completely Untoward: Chapter 2**

Patrick Turner lay watching the early morning sunlight glint off of his wife's golden hair as she slept, its warm glow seeping through the shades. He adored running his fingers through the silky waves, a habit he indulged in whenever possible; however, he dared not do so then for fear of waking her.

He ran his eyes over the angelic face that shining halo framed, delicate yet imbued with boundless strength and wisdom despite her younger years. Her porcelain complexion, flawless and radiant in the half-light of dawn, never failed to mesmerize him. Whatever worry lines had marred its surface after a trying day had vanished in slumber, an innocence he wished he could preserve and protect from an unjust world. How could his precious Shelagh bear so much?

He longed to see her eyes, those blue-green depths in which he'd be content to be forever lost without a map. They told of her joy and her sorrow, her patience and her passion, her desire and her fear. When she had worn the habit, they were all he'd truly seen of her, all he'd dared to base his hopes upon that she might feel something, too—however wrong those feelings might have been.

Suddenly those eyes fluttered, squinting to keep a ray of light at bay. Little irritated groaning noises escaped from her lips as she snuggled further into him, attempting to block the unwelcome light with his body. He chuckled quietly at her adorably childish actions.

"Patrick Turner," a sleep-softened, Scottish voice began in mock sternness, "staring is one thing, but laughing at your wife will simply not be tolerated."

His chuckles increased at her words as she burrowed further into his chest, lips feathering over his collarbone in a good morning kiss.

"I'll admit the laughing was rather rude," he murmured softly, "but the staring was for medical purposes."

Her head came level with his as her eyes finally opened, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep as she quirked an eyebrow.

"Is that so, Doctor?"

"Oh yes," he insisted playfully, his fingers now at liberty to twirl strands of her hair between them. "I intend to make a study of you."

Her other eyebrow joined its twin in a look of faux astonishment.

"Turning your wife into a lab rat, are you?" she asked, cheek evident in her voice.

"Oh, not at all, my dear," he replied, a jolt of joy running through him as she again referred to herself as his wife. He was sure the novelty of it would never wear off. "I simply intend to discover how so much beauty, kindness, selflessness, intelligence, and love can exist in one human being. There must be some sort of chemical imbalance, wouldn't you say?"

Her impish exterior dissolved at the sincerity in his jest, and she brought both hands to frame his face as she kissed both his eyelids, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. Her actions and her eyes conveyed her gratitude and adoration far better than any words could.

"I forgot tenderness," he amended lovingly. "Oh, and strength."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Patrick," Shelagh bashfully protested, placing a finger on his upturned lips to silence him. "You make it sound like you're nominating me for sainthood, which you know I don't deserve. That's quite a pedestal to be placed upon."

His lips kissed the finger that had stopped his words and threaded his hand through hers.

"Ah, but that's why you deserve it all the more, my love—because you don't take credit for all that you do. Yesterday, however, you exhibited all those qualities and more," he insisted, desperate to make her understand how wonderful she truly was.

"Still," he continued, "it was wrong of me to ask it of you. You must be very sensitive, still, and your life as a midwife has passed. I'm so sorry, darling—"

Her lips stopped his contrition this time, and as she pulled away, she gently ran her fingertips over his lips in reverence.

"Patrick, darling, I love you, and I want to help you, to be beside you, in any way I can," she explained resolutely.

She bestowed another kiss upon his lips and came away with a smile, though she became puzzled when she noticed he did not bear one of his own.

He buried his face in her neck and held her tighter to him, her hands instinctively stroking his back and weaving through his hair to soothe him. She placed a kiss on his forehead, a comfort and a silent question.

"I was so scared, Shelagh," he breathed into the golden curtain of her hair. "I thought about Mave Carter, the pain and struggle and anxiety of that birth, and all the past fear added to the present. I longed for the comforting smile and sure hands of Sister Bernadette—"

Her breath hitched at the mention of her religious name. His head rose to meet her gaze.

"…But then I realized that I had her in my Shelagh; that like my fears, your past was in the present, too, in the best way. I knew I needed you to get me through that birth."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears at his complete honesty and reverence for her.

"Oh, Patrick," she breathed, stroking his cheek, "I was so frightened as well. I feared reverting to my past could cause me pain, so much so that I felt I might endanger Annie."

She closed her eyes and shook her head at the memory before swallowing hard and meeting his gaze again.

"But you were there," she continued, her thumb tracing his jaw line as a slight smile graced her lips, "and I remembered how safe you make me feel, always. I remembered that your strength is my strength, too."

Patrick found his own eyes misting as he cupped her cheek and kissed her tenderly for what felt like hours, slow, languid strokes of his tongue over hers.

When they pulled apart, his arms came fully around her, aligning their bodies flush against each other as they sighed in contentment.

"Do you remember," Patrick said softly, drawing lazy circles in the small of her back as his nose brushed along hers, "when we shared that first cigarette after the Carter birth?"

She scoffed slightly as her hand traced the planes of his chest. "Of course I remember. That was the day you fell in love with me."

Now it was his turn to give arched eyebrows of surprise. "I, a respectable doctor, fall in love with a _nun?_ Preposterous, Mrs. Turner!"

Then suddenly he attacked her neck with his lips as his fingers skittered along her stomach.

Patrick Turner had discovered something on his wedding night that had completely surprised and delighted him:

His wife was wonderfully ticklish.

This had not been so welcome a discovery for Shelagh.

"Patrick!" she squealed amid her uncontrollable giggling. "Patrick, stop that this instant!"

His fingers ceased their torment and returned to her back, weaving soothing patterns there to calm her as he grinned at her in shameless triumph.

"Honestly, sometimes you're worse than Timothy," she accused him once she'd caught her breath.

"Sorry, darling—I can't help it," he whined before placing a kiss of supplication on her lips. "You're just too wonderfully adorable when tickled. Anywho, what were we talking of? Oh, yes—when I fell in love with you, was it?"

"Yes," she smiled. "I knew because I could feel your eyes on me in that alley as I left—much like I could this morning. I had felt that when I prayed, that God's eyes were watching me, showing me he loved me. I knew something that powerful had to be love, even if it was a different kind of love."

Patrick beamed at her words, taking her hand and kissing the scar on her inner palm. He always did this when something she said truly touched him, and she adored the gesture. No words were needed, for there are times when love cannot be spoken—only shown.

"I don't suppose you'd like to know when _you_ fell in love with _me,_ would you?" he murmured, his fingers playing with hers, tracing the lines on her palm.

"A doctor that can diagnose love. Extraordinary. Do explain, good sir," she encouraged playfully.

_Good Lord, I sound like Chummy,_ she thought inwardly.

"Do you remember a certain spirit lamp over which our eyes met in a certain kitchen lacking in a water heater?"

She blushed to think her love for him had shown itself so soon. That blush gave him his answer.

"I'd always marveled at the beauty of your eyes, but there was a flame in them that day I hadn't seen before. I wrote it off then as wishful thinking, but every time I met your gaze after that day, that flame was there, and I knew I couldn't give up."

Shelagh poured all the emotions his words evoked into a reverent kiss on his palm, mimicking his earlier action. They held each other's gaze for minutes stretched by warmth, the flame of each reflected in the other's eyes. They leaned in for another kiss, igniting the spark, fanning the flame that would never die.

"Well then, Officer," Patrick began in mock seriousness as they pulled back, "shall we rally the troops to greet the day?"

Shelagh's sly half-smile crept along her features as she glanced briefly at the clock and murmured, "It's early yet, Sergeant."

And then she pounced, pinning him to the bed as that flame danced brightly in her eyes, Patrick's face the picture of shock.

"I'd say _I've_ ample time to make a study of _you_."

**THE END! Hope you enjoyed it, darlings. Review if you have the time, and get ready for more Turnadette (and possibly some Hot Prison Vicar) in due course! Love and hugs.**


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